


To Share the World with You

by valravnsown



Series: Of Ravens and Knights [2]
Category: Glee, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood Magic, Crossover, Fantasy, Horror, M/M, Not Blaine or Klaine Friendly, non detailed sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2464586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valravnsown/pseuds/valravnsown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the sequel to my earlier piece, A Raven's Knight. This is what happens on the road to remembering who they were, and what happened in the Enchanted Forest to make Kurt the way he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Share the World with You

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living, dead, or otherwise is purely coincidental. Italics are set in the Enchanted Forest, regular text is in Storybrooke. I do not own any of the associated characters, properties, etc. I make no profit from this. This story is not friendly to Blaine Anderson or the Kurt/Blaine pairing. This story contains blood, magic, a same sex relationship, death, violence, and horror elements. You have been warned. Now, without further ado…

_He is seven when his mother shows him how to rip a heart out of a person. It is a girl, older than Kurt, but still a virgin. The look of horror on her face is something that would have fascinated him were he not so hungry. Looking at the glowing heart in his hand, Kurt felt sharp fangs dig into his lower lip. The pain snaps him from his hunger, from the trance it induces in him. His mother moves behind him, her talons a reassuring presence against the skin of his neck. He tilts his head back and looks up at her._

_“My little one,” she whispers, her voice softer than the fabric she weaves, “eat. Eat and be strong.”_

_“But she’ll die,” he hears himself say. He doesn’t know where the comment comes from. It is like he is watching the scene play out below him, and he can do nothing to change it. He feels he is a puppet, being pulled and made to speak. The words, he knows, are part of a ritual formula, like the one the curate recites at the harvest festival he attends with his father. The ones his mother never comes to. She claims it is because the harvest festival falls on her mother’s death day, but Kurt knows the truth. Knows that if he follows through with this, he won’t be able to attend a harvest festival ever again._

_“Konrad,” she says, her voice more firm and the girl writhes against the tree she is bound to with vines, “all things die in time. If you are to live, others must die. It is the way we are. We cannot change it.”_

_“Even with our magic?”_

_“Especially with our magic. What is magic my son?”_

_“Life,” he answers, feeling the sharp teeth press against his lower lip. He isn’t afraid, not this time. His mother’s words flow through him and calm him. The girl is an indistinct blur in the far ground of his sight. All that exists, all that is, all that matters is the glowing heart he holds in his hand. In the silence before his mother continues he swears he can hear a soft song coming from the heart. A song as older than his mother. It was the song she must have heard when she had first eaten. It was the song of their kind, a song filled with the slow steady rhythm of blood._

_“And what is the best way to honor that which we kill, that which we need to sustain our life?” she asks. He can’t see his mother, but he knows she is smiling._

_“To take their life, their magic into us,” he responds. He doesn't notice the change in his voice, how it has grown lower, filled with the need._

_“Then honor your prey Kurt,” his mother commands and he obeyed. He brought the heart to his lips and felt its heat, its glow against his face before opening his jaws wide and bringing his fangs down into the flashing ruby surface of the woman’s heart. Her scream is covered by his mother’s triumphant howl and the cawing of night birds, the only witnesses to his act, to his birth. He is lost in the surge of magic filling him, moving from his scalp to his stomach to his extremities. He tilts his head back, feeling blood run over his fangs and down his lips. He lets out a throaty howl, nowhere near as strong as his mothers, but it mingles with the song of the dark shapes flitting across the sky, and he knows for the first time his true name and nature._

_“I am proud of you, my son,” his mother says. He smiles before he turns his focus back on the heart that is losing its glow and quickly. He turns back to it with ravenous determination. Each bite is a new experience, each time he chews shows him something new. He knows the girl is dead and as soon as he finishes his meal the scavengers will come and devour her. Come morning all that will be left are the bones, perhaps less. He can’t bring himself to care though. He is alive, truly alive. He runs a hand against his lips and feels the blood and chunks of muscle slide against his skin. He shudders when he feels a bit of ventricle sink into his body. He turns to his mother, fear filling his eyes._

_“Our nature makes clean up much easier Konrad. Our power doesn’t want us to waste anything,” she says as she kneels in front of him. Her skin, which is as pale as her son’s is now marked with elaborate swirling patterns alive in the moon’s faint glow. Kurt extends a blood soaked hand to his mother and watches as the blood is seamlessly absorbed by her skin when his fingers touch her cheek._

_There is silence between mother and son as Kurt allows his skin to work. He has never felt his magic more strongly than now. He feels as if he could cause the sun to rise from the west and sink in the east or as if he could turn all the land to water or…his mothers thumb is stroking his face. She has resumed her human skin. Gone are the long feathers that had been her hair. Gone is the dark gray fur that had covered her arms. Gone is the gold in her eyes. The sight of her as human snaps Kurt back into himself and he feels his own body change. He looks at his stain free hands and wonders where his talons went._

_“In time, my son,” his mother says, ignoring the shadows slipping out from the trees to devour the girl’s hanging body, “you may be able to do all you were dreaming and more. However even blood magic has its limits, and you must know them. Blood is older than light and dark, and blood is strong; but, even blood cannot change the fundamental nature of things.” He is not certain he understands, but he nods anyway._

…

When Emma Swan arrived in Storybrooke, Adam felt the ground move beneath his feet. It was literally the truth. He heard about the new arrival as he is walking up a flight of stairs, and the news made him miss a step and he trips forward, catching himself on the bannister only in the nick of time. Kayla laughed at him, and Jason rested an arm around his back, reassuring him that it could have happened to anyone. News of an outsider in Storybrooke was rare. Adam didn’t remember any previous outsiders; at least he thought he didn’t. There was something in this. Kurt’s, no Konrad’s words returned to his mind unbidden. However, he fails to see how a poorly driving bail-bond’s woman could save anything. What was meant by Savior anyway? Adam wasn’t sure.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Kurt sitting at a table. His boyfriend and a blond young man engaged in intense conversation sit near him, but Kurt has a smile on his lips. Adam blinked and in the nanosecond of darkness that flashed before his eyes, he would have sworn he saw Kurt’s lips covered in blood and his flesh covered in intricate lacing tattoos. When he looked again at Kurt’s table, he saw Kurt shoot him a look that told him to cease looking. Turning back to Kayla, he nods and chuckles when she comes to the end of a story, but only after Owen started laughing loudly. Nia, the most observant member of the drama club looked at Adam. “Are you feeling ok?”

“Never better,” he answered, forcing an ear-to-ear smile. It was one of the talents he was most proud of, his ability to smile like that on command. He had lost track of how many people he had fooled with it. He had even fooled himself when he had seen it in the mirror. He shouldn’t be able to do it, but he did. It was one aspect of his craft he wished he hadn’t perfected, hadn’t needed to perfect.

“You know,” Nia began, “if you ever need to talk about something…” she rested a hand on his shoulder and lets herself trail off. He gave her an appreciated nod, and allowed the smile to slip to something more subdued, much closer to the torment that flooded him, however he smiled still. He broke away from the smaller girl and moved over to Owen, questioning him about the costumes for the coming production of Macbeth, the same production from which he had borrowed choreography to teach Henry Mills. He successfully managed to banish that thought form his mind as he debated costume choices for the time period, and how to best work with the minimalist set they were constructing.

When loud footfalls echoed, Adam and his friends quickly vacated their tables. A group of the Knights moved through the hallways, looking every inch the lords of the castle. One of the glee club members let out a sound half way between a scream and a whimper and ran into the girl’s bathroom. As he turned his head, Adam saw Blaine rushing from the table he had been sharing. The blond and Kurt stayed put. The blond was a member of the Knights, so he had nothing to fear. Kurt however had a particular fire in his eyes. Even at this distance, Adam would have sworn he saw fragments of gold flashing there.

He blinked, and the momentary darkness seemed much longer. He imagined Kurt doing the impossible. He imagined Kurt standing, biting his thumb hard enough to draw blood, and then…chaos. He imagined the floor of the cafeteria littered with corpses. He saw Kurt tilting his head back, thick, dark blood falling from his lips, his eyes closed in rapturous pleasure. He saw Kurt’s hands, covered in fragments of flesh and bone, his fingertips ending in wicked claws or talons. He imagined Kurt walking forwards as if he owned the school, no the town, and feared nothing for there would be more bodies, more victims, more people he could use as offerings. In his head, a question he had never heard echoed harsh and insistent, demanding an answer.

As Adam opened his eyes, he wanted to forget everything that had flashed in his mind but he couldn’t. A part of him knew what he had seen, what he had felt were true things, the sorts of things that you can’t forget or won’t. Much to his embarrassment, he felt the tightness of his jeans around his loins and he knew the only way to take care of it would be to run to the men’s room at the far hall, the one that was supposedly out of order. He made his excuses quickly and slung his satchel in front of his pelvis. He arrived at the bathroom in less than two minutes, and it took even shorter than that before he is shooting his release into a toilet bowl, mouthing a name he dared not say.

In the silence that followed after he flushed away the evidence and washed his hands, he wondered to himself why he couldn’t say that name. There was no way Kurt would have been able to hear him, not this far away. The answer eluded him, a moth dancing in the darkest shadows of his mind, always out of his grasp. Hearing the warning bell for class, he was grateful to be only four doors down from where he needed to be, far away from Kurt. He dared one look in the mirror, and he seemed far more composed than he felt. Praying silently, he hoped no one would call on him. He hadn’t done the readings last night.

…

_He is fourteen and the dagger rests against his palm. Looking down the Cliffside, he hopes his control is enough. Air-walking is not an easy task. His mother hadn’t mastered it, and she had lifetimes more experience. She had needed to change her form. As half human, assuming another form completely is beyond his power, at least for the moment. He exhales and tries not to wince at the pain. As it passes he feels for the currents of air around him. He steps forward, willing the air solid around his feet. The droplets of blood fall, and before they splatter on the ground below, they become a miniature platform, wrapping around the air and holding it in place. Not traditional air-walking, not at least as how the Grimoire his mother had left his describes it. He steps backwards and watches as he skin knits itself shut._

_He closes his eye and again places the tip of the dagger on his palm. He remembers the formula written in his mother’s methodical hand. He remembers the theory behind this particular piece of magic. He remembers and does not wince as he presses the metal blade into his skin. Feeling a small breeze against his newly opened wound, Konrad steps forward. When he opens his eyes he sees that his injury has closed and that he stands on nothing. He doesn’t allow himself to feel anything, not even pride. Concentration in necessary to maintain the magic, and he can’t allow himself the luxury of any sensation as he slowly side steps. For a second he falters in mid air and feels nothing as he put his foot down. Then stability as the currents and particles in the air around him shift to support his weight._

_With infinite care he takes steps in the other direction, hiding himself behind one of the tall elms. He looks behind to the ledge where he had been standing moments earlier, and then steps forwards, towards the high reaching giant of a tree. Each movement is an exercise in control. He forces himself to loosen his grip on the dagger he holds in his hand. Sheathing it, Konrad extends his other hand, his feeling the shafts of daylight that break through the high canopy above him. As he steps forwards, a large black crow descends and lands on his index finger. Kurt looks at the ebony plumed bird and it looks right back at him. Stillness hangs heavy in the air for a moment, and the half-human is at peace, the contentment bolstering his stance in the air._

_The tranquility is shattered when he hears the hoof falls of a large horse. The carrion crow flies from his finger as he feels himself tumbling through the air. He has time enough to bite the inside of his lip hard. The familiar taste of blood fills his mouth, but before he has time to spit it out, to reshape the ground beneath him, his head hits a long reaching branch of the elm he had been walking towards. It causes him to lose the trace blood he would need for his spell, but worse, it causes him to lose his concentration. Dazed, falling, he has time and wit enough only to reach and grab for one of the long limbs. His fingers catch one and he grunts when he feels the his body snapped through the effort of holding himself._

_He has bought himself seconds, he knows that much. He doesn’t have long and he is still too far above the ground to be able to land without the aid of magic. As he prepares to bite his lip and reshape the ground beneath him the hoof falls of the horse are louder and much closer. His mother’s warning echoes in his ears. It is better to die than to be revealed as a blood magician. The only person you could show that power to, according to her warning, was someone to whom you would give your heart. He silently prays, not to the gods of the village curate, nor to the mysterious gods of the sea. Rather he prays to his mother’s gods, the gods of blood and shadows. He asks them not for mercy, nor for peace. He asks only that if he dies that his heart may fuel another Valravn. He asks that if it is indeed his time to die, that he may be the first meal of a new Valran. It is the only prayer he can offer._

_His finger slip from the bough he is holding and he is in free fall again. However instead of harsh earth and oblivion, he finds himself in the arms of a well-dressed young man with curling black hair (almost the shade of a crow’s wing, but not quite) and green eyes. There is a half smile dancing on full lips and Kurt feels his breath caught in his throat. While he had long admired men from a distance, he had never been attracted to one before. Now, so close to this specimen, who is objectively handsome, he feels his heart beat faster. His mother had said it might not be possible for him to feel lust or love, but the swirl of emotions in the pit of his stomach is at least the first of the two._

_“Now then, what were you doing up in that tree?” the young man asked and Kurt has to think quickly._

_“I was trying to get the flowers of the ice-weed. They grow in the highest branches of trees like this. I needed them to produce a dye,” he answers. He is grateful to his mother, both for her skill as a magician and a weaver. Her knowledge of the mundane was sometimes as useful, if not more so, than all of her magical knowledge._

_“You should be more careful little squirrel, a lord might not always be around to catch you,” the young man says, his grin shifting slightly. Kurt’s stomach shifts in response as he feels the horse move beneath them and as he tries to read the eyes of the lord who is still holding him in his arms._

_“I am no squirrel,” Kurt says, knowing he is pouting as he does so._

_“Little bird then. Tell me your name little bird.”_

_“You may call me Kurt.”_

_“Well then Kurt, I am Flavius,” the lord introduces with what Kurt thinks the lord considers his winning grin. It does no favors for him, nor does his name._

…

Days dragged, Adam didn’t keep track of them. He didn’t want time to pass, not really. He wanted things to stop, or at least slow down a little so he could collect his thoughts. His memories, a part of his mind whispered distantly, but he was able to ignore it for the most part. Only at night, when he was half-way between sleeping and waking does that whisper loop through his brain in a way he can’t ignore. It is subtle, but that is its strength. At night he could never have ignored what the voice inside him said, except he always forgot about it in the morning.

When the election for the new sheriff arrived, Adam sat in the back of the hall listening. There was something in Ms. Swan’s voice, a type of sincerity. He not only wanted to believe her, on some level he needed to believe her. Her voice and the way she addressed the crowd wouldn’t let him do otherwise. When he voted, he would have sworn he felt someone looking over his shoulder, disapproving of him, but on the other hand, he knew it was what had to happen. As he left, he thought he saw Kurt standing, silent as a statue. The look on his face was impossible to read. However, there was a slight upturn in his lips, the ghost of a smile. And not the sort of smile he used at school. It was the smile of expectation, of receiving something for which he had been waiting a long time. Perhaps, all of his life, Adam realized before it vanished as swiftly as it had arisen. Jostled by someone heading into a voting both, Adam lost sight of the shorter teen.

Adam knew Kurt couldn’t vote yet, so he guessed that he had accompanied his father. Looking through the mass of citizens, he didn’t spy Mr. Hummel, but he saw Mayor Mills. The look on her face could have put someone in the hospital, or worse. He had never seen such raw loathing, such utter contempt. What could have Emma Swan done to her? For the first time in a long time, he wished he had paid better attention to the rumors that had surrounded his arrival. Then again, it was like Kurt had said in that one afternoon they had spent together. Everyone would believe whatever it was they wanted, no matter the truth surrounding the situation. Adam knew he wasn’t quoting verbatim, but it didn’t really matter.

As he got back to his car, he looked upwards. In the still outside of the hall, he heard the sound of the town clock, the one that hadn’t been running for as long as he could remember. He listened for a long moment, letting the echoes settle in the back of his mind. The way the clock sounded, it reminded Adam of something. Whatever it was must not have been important, as the memory faded as soon as it arose. It was only as he was halfway back to his parent’s home that the realizations flashed upon him. The clock didn’t sound like it was moving forwards, rather it sounded like it was counting down. Something had started, something that could not be avoided, could not be altered. Whatever the clock was counting down to would come. And when it did…

Adam let his thoughts trail off into space as Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper” filled the car and he caught himself singing along with it. His fingers danced against the wheel, in time to Allan Lanier’s and Joe Bouchard’s steady bass lines. He let himself forget as he sang, softly, driving onwards. By the time he had returned to his parent’s home, the song hadn’t quite ended. He tilted his head back and felt his beanie fall from his head as he let the last parts of the song wrap around him. The DJ moved from Blue Oyster Cult to some teen boy-band Adam wasn’t going to bother to learn the name of. From what he remembered, he thought Kurt’s boyfriend had gotten a solo singing that song (or one much like it) the last time the glee club had performed in front of the school. Desperately random, Adam thought to himself as he turned off the radio and got out of the car.

As he drifted to sleep, he dreamed things that could not be. He saw Kurt sinking his teeth into a glowing heart that he held in his hands. He saw arrows reduced to ash and a man impaled by a spear of stone and blood, hanging from an ancient ash tree. In dreams he tasted a strange combination, iron and cinnamon. In his dreams, he received an unforgiving kiss from a figure whose face was covered in tattoos. As he woke in the morning he forgot all of these dreams. They were things that could not be, except in a dream or fairytale. This was the walking world, and he was no longer a child. He was a grown man and had just voted for what felt like the first time. He had no time for such dreams.

…

_It is a month since Flavius caught him when he fell from a tree. In the time since, the lord’s second son (as he had been revealed to be) had called on Kurt six times. Kurt doesn’t know how he feels about this. True, there is the surface attraction, but Kurt knows there is something past it. He wonders if it is because of the sort of heart Flavius has. His mother had said he would need to eat a noble’s heart to complete his transformation, to shed his human skin entirely. Is what he thinks he feels for the noble simply the hunger? Is what he wants from Flavius a heart, not to hold, but to devour?_

_He sighs and wishes that his mother was beside him. She isn’t though, she has gone back to the night, to the shadows, to her kind. She said it was because she was in danger of losing her true face. Kurt wonders if that meant she loved his father. His mother had told him once she had stayed with Bertram out of gratitude. He had fed her in her bird’s body, before she had gained her full power. He had saved her life, and she had repaid her debt. Perhaps it wasn’t a grand romance, but he knew his father had loved his mother. That was something at least. In her own way, his mother had cared for his father. Cared enough to leave before he could discover what she was. She had heard the call and had to obey. It was her nature she had told the son the morning before she had faked her death. She could not fight it anymore than Kurt could fight his own nature._

_Kurt looks down at his loom and pulls the shuttle to rest. He knows himself well enough to know he will get little work truly done with his mind so clouded. Turning his gaze from the loom he sees the jug of water. A swift gesture of his index finger and the door to the weaving room is locked. In his nest, his place of power, he needs not to call to his blood. He was born here. His mother had buried his afterbirth beneath the floor. His blood is here in the form of his father. There is no need for more blood than that._

_With a steady hand, he pours some of the water onto a metal plate. It would be best if the metal is silver, but he makes do with what he has. He looks at the water, at its stillness. Then he looks through it, past it. He feels his body begin to slump and the rest of the room as the water ripples and his reflection is replaced by shadows. All is dark around him, save for the images on the water, coming into focus as he slips into the state between dream and waking. Divination is not his strongest form of magic, but far seeing is a useful skill. It is one he has continually practiced, and his practice shows as the image stabilizes and becomes as clear as the pattern on the scarf he has been weaving._

_He knows what he is asking to see might not be moral, but he cares little for the conventional notions of morality. Blood magic itself was censured by some as darker than dark. Kurt has never understood that notion. Blood magic is at least honest in what it asks of its casters. The price of blood magic is never hidden. That should be enough to put it into a grey category. Kurt needs to see Flavius outside of the self he presented when he came courting. Knowing just what sort of person the lordling is might settle his mind. Kurt might know then if he feels lust, hunger, or that rarest of all emotions for any Valravn, love. He is not aware of having held his breath, but he gives a sharp intake of wind, filling his lungs as he sees Flavius on his knees._

_The lordling has a cock in his mouth and fingers are weaving thought his hair. The expression on his partner’s face, another slim brown haired youth, is one of absolute pleasure. Apparently Flavius is very good at doing this. Kurt wants to stop watching, but he has to let the spell take him to its own conclusion. He watches as the one receiving Flavius’ administrations stops him, took him to his feet and spins him around. Little time was lost then as Flavius opened his mouth in an expression of either pleasure or pain as his partner began rutting into his ass. The question of pain or pleasure is settled when one of the lordling’s hands comes around and pushes on his partner’s backside, easing him in further._

_Kurt is suddenly grateful for the limitations of the spell. It only shows what happens, it does not grant hearing of events as well. The water becomes dark as Flavius is turned face upwards and wraps his legs around his partner, bucking back against each thrust. The image fades and Kurt knew instantly all he had felt. It had been hunger, not lust or love. Flavius made a great show of being a romantic when he had come courting, but he was just as wanton as Tessa, the village whore. Kurt does not judge the boy for seeking his pleasure, but to make such a play at love for one while being so open, so willing to be fucked by another? That is something that he cannot stand. It shows falsehood, and while Kurt keeps secrets, he tries not to lie._

_He knows what he had felt for Flavius was hunger, and now even that is gone. While Flavius’ heart will still give him power, it won’t be nearly as much. The heart of an innocent, a virgin noble, is the heart for which his Valravn half calls out. There is little Flavius could offer him, even the debt of life was forfeit now. Kurt considered it paid as the only reason he owed Flavius such a debt was because Flavius’ in his brash riding style had been the one to disturb Kurt during his air-walking. Had Flavius been anywhere else or been a better rider, the debt would not exist._

_He takes the loom’s shuttle into his hand and moves it with slow deliberation. His feet manipulate the peddles and his eyes make sure he has not dropped a stitch. He feels only the familiar cold and dark of isolation. His mother had once told him they would most likely be his only lifelong companions. He had learned to embrace them. Without the flicker of hunger where his heart might be, he cannot even bring himself to be disappointed in Flavius. The boy was only acting within his own nature. Now comes the question of how to rid himself of Flavius’ presence_.

…

When a second outsider arrived in Storybrooke, Adam feels whatever had begun with the arrival of Sheriff Swan accelerating. Whatever was happening, was happening faster. He didn’t know if there was a correct way to feel about it, so he stood back and let it happen. There were some things that once started, could not be altered. Once some fires started burning, you had to let them burn out. He was afraid, at the deepest level of himself, but he owned that fear, and from that fear he drew a form of strength. If he was afraid, he was intelligent enough to be so. He had a feeling that most of Storybrooke didn’t or wouldn’t acknowledge what has happening.

He didn’t meet the man who moved to the Inn. He had only seen him once, in passing. There was something artificial about the man, Adam could tell that at first glance. What specifically it was, he didn’t know if he would ever be able to pinpoint. It wasn’t that he had an inherent mistrust of authors as he knew some did. Whatever it was about August Booth, Adam sensed it at the core of his being. It was one of the things he knew without being aware of it. It was like how he knew the soccer coach was unhappily in love, or how the school janitor used sweeping as a form of meditation, or how if Kurt had the chance he would burn everything to the ground.

Of a Thursday afternoon, he went to grab a slice of pie with Chelsea, who was currently in one of her off phases with Brandon. Such was the nature of their relationship. He wondered to himself if he should start a pot on how long it would take them to get back together. Chances were by the time he had collected enough money and calculated the odds correctly, the two lovers would have already reconnected and quietly so the point of the pot would go moot. Adam was never one to invest in anything frivolously. It went against what his father, an accountant, had taught him.

Adam smiled to himself as Chelsea made a gesture in the air with her fork. Her face was animated with the special spark known only those who walk the line of love and loathing. As she speared in the air with her fork, Adam play flinched, his smile never leaving his face. He knew that his smile was only goading her on, but this was part of their ritual, their pattern. It was as much an aspect of their relationship as Chelsea’s fights with Brandon helped to define that relationship. It was one of the fundamental things, and as such should nor or could not be changed.

The bell above the door chimed in the brief silence after she demanded, “Why are you smiling anyway Adam? Is my pain amusing to you?” He was about to defend himself when his voice caught in his throat. Kurt walked in, wearing a black pea coat and blue jeans that he must have been poured into. Adam’s gaze followed the lithe form to the counter, only briefly acknowledging the fact that Kurt’s boyfriend followed him in. his hair helmeted down through a thick layer of gel. He felt the smile slide and from the corner of his eye he would have sworn he saw an expression of disgust on Chelsea’s.

“Please Adam, you can do so much better than him,” Chelsea said. Her tone was more than enough to confirm Adam’s suspicions about her facial expressions. He tore his eyes from where the couple sat at the counter back to his friend. The fork hung limply between her thumb and forefinger, and Adam would have sworn that mingled with the disgust was some amusement. However he hadn’t ever known Chelsea to mix the two expressions.

“What…who?” Adam started. He hated himself, he was normally more controlled, more reserved. The control that he had prided himself on around his crush object had been slipping though. Ever since the confrontation in the classroom, he had felt it slipping sand-like from his fingers. Ever since he had been having dreams that were more than dreams he knew he had to do more to increase his chances of not being noticed. Now he was found out, and he hated himself. Not that he was in the closet to any members of the drama club, but he believed his personal life should be just that, his and personal. He didn’t want to share it with anyone, save the person he was dating.

“Blaine,” Chelsea spat out and Adam felt some of the weight slide off from his chest. He sputtered, his tongue as stuck as when Kurt had walked into the café.

“Seriously, Adam. He might seem cute, but dude, have you seen his older brother? You know who got all the handsome genes in the family. Also, you’re way out of his league. Hell only knows what sort of voodoo he used to get and keep that boyfriend of his. Don’t you remember his audition?” Chelsea asked as she readjusted her grip on her fork before she speared another piece of cake. Adam remembered the fall of last year when Blaine had auditioned to be the lead in Guys and Dolls. There was no denying that the younger boy had a conventional sort of leading man quality, but beyond that there was nothing. His facial expressions had lacked nuance, and while his voice had been decent, it had also been incredibly generic.

“I wasn’t looking at him,” Adam defended quickly. He only realized what he had said too late and began blushing in the moment before realization dawned across Chelsea’s face. She now looked a proper Valkyrie, victorious and proud. She looked at Adam, and Adam looked anywhere but at Chelsea. It was too late though. He knew she had seen, and more than that, he knew that she now knew. He was too damned careless, he chastised himself silently. How had he let himself grow this stupid?

“Why don’t you make a play for Kurt then?” Chelsea asked, the tone of her voice was half heckle and half genuine inquiry.

“I don’t think this is the best place,” Adam objected, noticing that his voice was a fraction of what it had been when they had been debating the various methods of torture Chelsea might want to apply to Brandon.

“Bullshit. You know they can’t hear us with all that Blaine’s saying,” Chelsea said. Adam dared a quick glance and saw that Blaine’s mouth was moving, with only the necessary pauses to gather breath. Kurt looked past his boyfriend, at something at the far end of the counter, a small false smile on his lips. Adam didn’t know how he knew it was a false smile. However it struck him as false in the same way that the new writer did. It was a masterful falseness, and he didn’t know why Blaine couldn’t see through it.

“I have my reasons,” Adam said simply, wishing for once that Chelsea would let things drop.

“And what would those be?” She asked. Adam hated his friend in that moment.

“They’re my reasons, and that’s all I’ll say about it,” he answered, his tone far colder than he had meant it to be. Chelsea scowled, but made no other sign of protest. What could Adam tell her though? That the mayor would hurt him if he did? That Kurt had said he shouldn’t not until he remembered something that couldn’t have happened? That his dreams showed him something frightening, and he didn’t know if he had enough courage in this world to take the hand of someone who saw themselves as monstrous? How could Chelsea understand any of this if he didn't?

…

_In the aftermath of seeing Kurt reveal himself as half-Valravn, Adan says nothing. Could say nothing. What is there he could say to someone who is not truly human? Someone he might have let himself fall in love with, if only things were other than they are. However Adan finds himself tongue tied among the dead bodies and Kurt is as still as those he has slaughtered. Flavius has run and Adan wonders why Kurt hasn’t gone after him, hasn’t butchered him like he has with the rest of his men. Swallowing hard, ignoring the question posed by the half-mortal, Adan asks, “Aren’t you worried about what…” he trails off seeing where the horse Flavius had ridden has been turned into stone._

_“Who will believe him? My kind is all but legend. Blood magic is but a whisper, and before you met me, had you ever seen anyone do as I can?” Kurt asks and his hair has changed back into its human form. An obsidian feather floats from his neck and spirals in the air as a snowflake might before it reaches the ground. Despite no longer actively calling to the blood, he is surrounded by rivers of floating crimson that seep into his skin. Kurt steps away from Adan to lean down and scratch a fox shaped dark form with glowing red eyes. It nuzzles his hand fondly, its muzzle hiding the stains of its meal._

_“No,” Adan confesses, “but my mother said her grandmother…”_

_He is cut off as Konrad chuckles. He has ceased petting the shadowy fox and is not feeding a crow or raven a piece of intestine that had adhered to his tunic. Adan wants to retch, can feel his stomach churning, but he is resolved to be a better man, a better soldier than those that lie dead around him. He bites the inside of his lip as the black bird chirps in either thanks or contentment and alights from Kurt’s shoulder. “And your great-grandmother actually saw one of my mother’s people feed? Your great-grandmother saw a wolf or raven shed its skin and walk as a man? Your great-grandmother, what did she see with her own eyes, according to your mother anyway?” Kurt asks and his tone is only mildly condescending._

_“No.”_

_“Then what did she see?”_

_“A girl, from her village went missing. She was found dead in the woods, she had been…gnawed upon.”_

_“And was her heart in her chest?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_“Are my kind the only ones who are capable of killing a human and eating them? Last year, in the village where my father works, a child went missing. His bones were found a month or so later. A bear had gotten to him.”_

_“You keep on saying your kind. How are you their kind Kurt? You’re half-human.”_

_There is another low chuckle from Kurt as he strips off his tunic. The sight takes Adan’s breath and words away. Adan had guessed the boy was slender, however he had not guessed at the subtle strength of the body. There are muscles present, not as defined as Adan’s own, but more so than he has guessed. Kurt tosses the blood and filth stained shirt on top of one of Flavius’ dead soldiers whose eyes will never close again. They are open, glazed in death, face twisted in pain and fear. “I am more my mother’s son than my father’s,” Kurt informs as he turn his back on Adan so he can survey the whole macabre tableau. Also, his hands move to the waistband of his pants and he begins to peel them down slowly. Adan is mesmerized at the sight. He only half hears Kurt continue, “if I eat the right heart, I might lose my human skin entirely. After all, what reason do I have to stay human?”_

_Kurt is naked now and he tosses his trousers away carelessly. Adan is still groping for words, fascinated by Kurt’s nonchalance about being exposed. “What about your father?” Adan asks, “isn’t he reason enough to….keep your humanity?” He isn’t sure if Kurt is listening as sees Kurt’s hands making a series of small, quick movements with his hands. His eyes are shut, and Adan watches as a series of swirling lines dance across his body. They are thick, and bleed into each other, covering all of his skin. Then Kurt is chanting, “Little one, my little one, their bones are your timbers. Feast on these children of jail-keeper, man. As your parent roams free, turn them to ember. Recapture this birthright, as only you can.”*_

_There is silence for a moment and then Adan is blinded. If he had thought the flame Kurt had called to fight It was intense, then this heat he was wrong. The flames that leap from each body are like small suns. The stench of death soon mingles with the smell of things burning. Flesh, hair, bones, and earth, all is consumed in the ghoulish fires that dance. Adan knows in some lands that the dead are burned. It is done to prevent the ghosts from remaining attached to the world that their bodies had inhabited. It is done with love and honor. This cremation is done only to conceal evidence, and the thick black smoke forms a column that wraps around Kurt’s body. He turns back to Adan, wearing a tunic and pants of soot black, his tattoos having vanished. Behind him is a bonfire of corpses. “My father,” Kurt finally answers, “doesn’t have long in this world. If it were not for my magic, he would already have died. Once he does die, why should I keep my human form?”_

_Kurt seems fond of asking questions Adan won’t or can’t answer. He stays silent, looking the way the flames illuminate Kurt’s face. Even surrounded by death, Kurt is handsome. Even in the light of a pyre, half of wants nothing more than to kiss him. Even knowing what Kurt is, what Kurt has done, could do, and might yet do, a part of Adan is in love. Their eyes meet, and Adan sees no flecks of gold in the oceanic blue. “What about for love?” he hears himself asking, and his voice is a whisper._

_Kurt gives a sad smile in response. “You never answered my question. Would you love a monster-man?”**_

_“I do love you Kurt. I think I’ve loved you from the moment when you first whispered in my ear. I knew I loved you when I woke in your father’s house. I loved you when you used your magic to cloak me, and more so when stood against the Queen. I can’t but love you, mother’s side of the family and all.”_

_Between the two there is silence. Behind them the fires jump and twist. The bodies of the soldiers have lost most of their flesh and their bones are turning black. The statue of Flavius’ charger shatters from the heat. Kurt steps forwards and tilts his head upwards. Adan closes the distance and rests a hand on the other man’s neck after stroking his face with his fingers. Before either of them has a chance to second-guess themselves, Adan is kissing Kurt. Their tongues dance with each other and the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears deafens Adan to everything. The cawing of birds, the chattering of foxes, the howling of wolves, and the crackles of the flame are as nothing compared to the thunder of his heart._

…

It came crashing down, literally, in the following weeks. It was what Adam had been waiting for, without knowing it, for all of his life. It was the moment that hanged everything fundamentally. Once it had happened, he knew that nothing would ever be the same, and he had been waiting for it. He had needed this to happen, for it meant that the waiting was over. Now he was free to move, to act. However those thoughts only came to him later. In the moment, like everyone else in Storybrooke he was overwhelmed. With the wave, he couldn’t not be.

The wave washed through the school like it washed through everything else in Storybrooke. Adam…no Adan clutched his head as his life, the life that had been his before the curse flooded back into his skull. He was at once one and two, the student in the high school, and the knight in love with a half-human. Said half-human had a smile on his lips. His power had prevented the curse from talking hold, and now he could be what he truly was. Conqueror, murderer, they were one and the same role again. Blaine, Flavius, the lordling’s brat was pleading something, but whatever it was Adan did not hear. Rather he saw Kurt bite hard at the end of his finger. Even at this range, Adan saw the tell-tail drop of carnelian form.

Adam could feel his breath stop in his throat. He had been waiting to see this side of Kurt ever since the night in the mayor’s house, what felt like a lifetime ago. He had been waiting for this and as the droplet of blood fell to the ground, an offering, the nail of Adam’s index finger dug into the cuticle of his thumb. He pulled back hard gritting his teeth in pain. However he could feel the trace of blood running down his thumb and catching under his nail. It wasn’t like when he had offered blood from his neck, but it was better than nothing. Squeezing hard with the thumb and index finger of his other hand, Adam felt the trickle of blood increase in volume, if only slightly. He didn’t see it though, his eyes were focused on Kurt.

“Kurt,” he called out, his voice echoing through the now still cafeteria. Blaine turned to Adam and through his fear shot the other boy a poisonous look. Adam didn’t care. “I offer this willingly unto you,” Adam repeated. He knew what could happen next, and he didn’t care. He knew what Kurt might do with the offering, his blood, but Adam didn’t care. All that mattered to Adam was that Kurt knew that he remembered. All that mattered to Adam was for Kurt to know that _Adan_ still loved him, regardless if he was man, monster, or both. All that mattered to Adam was that he do this, that he enhance the power his beloved had at his finger tips. It was a small offering, but any blood given willingly, shed willingly, had a special charge. He watched as the pooled blood of his thumb became a narrow stream that wrapped around Kurt’s body.

Any disgust Blaine had left had vanished as the blood became a small serpent wrapped around Kurt’s fingers. A tall boy with dark brown hair and dark hazel eyes moved forwards and the blood serpent became a thin blade, lashing out and striking him across the chest. The boy fell, groaning. Not a fatal cut, but one producing more blood and the blade became thicker, longer, a scimitar of crimson hanging in the air. A blond boy, one of the glee club, came forward, talking rapidly. Kurt turned his gaze on him and the boy stopped in his tracks before a low scream came from his throat. The blond clutched his head, trying to cover his nose, but it was pointless. Droplet of blood erupted through the space in his fingers. The floated around Kurt’s body until they settled above his shoulder blade, splattering and becoming the outline of wings.

Blaine had not remained still during this display of power. While the rest of the cafeteria stared in shock, in horror at the revelation of Blood Magic’s endurance in this world supposed to be without magic, Blaine had tried to run. Rather than cut him down with the scimitar of blood, Kurt’s right foot slid forwards as he extended his right hand with his fingers pointed down. He flicked his fingers upwards suddenly as his weight dropped. Blaine stopped in his tracks, frozen in place. Kurt’s left hand shot up as he dragged the right foot back. Blaine twisted, and now all could see the expression of unbelief and fear etched onto his face. He was jerked forwards, the tips of his toes scratching across the ground as Kurt made miniature adjustments with his hands and feet. Several people tried to rush the blood magician, but the wings and blade swung at them, warding them off. In some cases, the blade cut or the wings sliced, and the new blood added new layers of protection around Kurt.

Blaine was now face to face with Kurt and Adam stood silent. He had to watch this. He had waited for this confrontation ever since the enchanted forest. Kurt stood, the conqueror, the king, unrepentant for his use of magic older than dark or light. Kurt moved into Blaine’s space and Adam saw the gold in Kurt’s eyes and talons at the ends of his fingertips. “If you ever speak to me again, I will make this look like nothing. You know what I can do, _Flavius._ I would recommend you remember that.” Kurt ignored the dark stain spreading across his ex-boyfriend’s crotch. He flexed his fingers and Blaine fell to the floor, shivering.

Not bothering to vanish the gold from his eyes, the dark feathers that had appeared in his hair, or outlines of his tattoos, Kurt strode over to Adam. Adam returned the gesture, not caring about the whispers that followed him. He tilted his head down and lifted his fingers to Kurt’s face. Kurt wrapped his arms around the taller, older boy and leaned up. They kissed, deeply, with hunger, remembering the last time they had been as such, surrounded by death. Now there was only life around them, and the roads they would walk together.

~Fin~

*Lyrics altered from “Hearthfire”, Sassafrass, Eclectic II, 2009  
**Lyrics from “Would You Love a Monsterman” Lordi, Get Heavy, 2002


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